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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28635375">Under A Shared Sky</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShiDreamin/pseuds/ShiDreamin'>ShiDreamin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Study, Found Family, Gen, Heroes of the Court Zine, Post Haikyuu Ending, Stream of Consciousness, Zine, implied asanoya - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 11:55:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,588</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28635375</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShiDreamin/pseuds/ShiDreamin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s delicious!” Nishinoya praises, his English more than a bit accented. That was one of the charms of New York as well; no one seemed to mind that they were confused tourists wandering around, their accents thick and their clothing obviously bundled from the flight over. If anything, it almost seemed like the New Yorkers were surprised that their accents weren’t as thick as they could have been.</p><p>It's a welcome change.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Asahi Azumane &amp; All Might, Azumane Asahi &amp; Nishinoya Yuu, Azumane Asahi/Nishinoya Yuu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Zine Pieces</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Under A Shared Sky</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> “We are all waiting with bated breath for the Argentina team to enter the stadium… And there he is folks! Their jaw-dropping setter, Tooru Oikawa!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Can you believe that this is Hinata’s first international competition? I sure can’t, not with that speed!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “And with that, Tobio delivers a nasty setter dump…!” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>New York is nothing like Asashi Azumane could have expected. Tokyo had seemed overwhelming when he first stepped foot in it all those years ago, the buildings towering in a way that Miyaji had no need for. New York City, however, truly boasts cities that more than towers—they seem to touch the sky with their sheer height, giant slabs of glass and marble.</p><p>The food here is different as well, but, well, he’s gotten used to different. Spicy curry from Bangladesh and buttery sandwiches from France, and now thin, crispy pizza that burns the roof of his mouth.</p><p>“It’s delicious!” Nishinoya praises, his English more than a bit accented. That was one of the charms of New York as well; no one seemed to mind that they were confused tourists wandering around, their accents thick and their clothing obviously bundled from the flight over. If anything, it almost seemed like the New Yorkers were surprised that their accents weren’t as thick as they could have been.</p><p>It's a welcome change, certainly.</p><p>“It is delicious, thank you,” Asahi agrees, nodding to the chef. The man doesn’t seem to notice, busy with hurriedly pushing two more pizzas into the brick oven and shoving two other ones into a box. The crowds in New York are louder, stronger, than Tokyo. They push and shove around and between Asahi and Nishinoya, until Asahi ends up with his arm around Nishinoya, pulling him close lest they get separated.</p><p>Traveling with Nishinoya had been… a surprise, certainly. While Asahi graduated Karasuno confused and stumbling about how to live his life, Nishinoya had graduated with a sunny smile and a promise to show them all the world. And he certainly has, every few weeks in a new spot, making it with ways Asahi still doesn’t understand how. There are odd jobs Nishinoya takes on: fishing, bartending, and even sometimes childcare. He’s participated as a photographer, a model, and once on a beach along the small five villages of Italy, taught a child how to play volleyball.</p><p>It’s not a logical path. It’s certainly not a <em> safe </em>, stable or secure one. But it’s one Nishinoya travels with joy, and why not? There’s not a person Asahi knows who has been to half as many places, and certainly no one with a smile so wide.</p><p>So he had asked to tag along. Just temporarily, as a way to see the world. To improve his own tenacity, his determination, and his judgement.</p><p>He had expected to go to Shanghai, maybe, or Singapore.</p><p>Certainly not New York, halfway across the world.</p><p>“Next, we’ve got to go to Central Park! Or Bryant Park, which is, um, left…? Or Washington Square! Yeah, Washington Square has that café! You like cafes, right Asahi?” Out of one activity, and straight into the next. When Sugawara and Daichi had asked him to keep track of Nishinoya’s sleep schedule, he had jokingly said that time had only made them more doting. Now, having learned that Nishinoya somehow managed to run the world on a consistent eight hours of sleep by sleeping and waking on the dot, and in addition to that somehow managed to fit what seemed to be two week’s itinerary into four days, Asahi can’t help but wonder what the world would be like if Nishinoya decided to take on a role as CEO of some big company. Surely, under his leadership, they may even end up on Mars in a year or two.</p><p>“Asahi? Hello? Wake up!” Oh! Right! Asahi gasps, turning to Nishinoya’s raised brow. “Did you get enough sleep? Should we head back to the hotel?”</p><p>“No, no! Sorry! Let’s keep going,” Asahi says. Nishinoya hums, rubbing at his chin, but he relents, allowing Asahi to tag along as he walks the streets.</p><p>“I think the nearest place is Central Park, so let’s stop there for an ice cream break!” Nishinoya’s enthusiasm is relentless, and Asahi finds himself cheering along. He hadn’t noticed in high school, but there was something about the fact that Nishinoya was so… present on the court and off. His energy seemed endless, whether it was loud or deadly still, and the sight of his invincible back had never faded from Asahi’s mind.</p><p>Even now, out of college, Asahi knows he can fall back on Nishinoya. That his small libero is not so small anymore, has never been so small really.</p><p>He wishes Nishinoya could fall on him the same way.</p><p>“Oh! Heroes, cool!”</p><p>“Ah—Noya, wait!” It’s too late. The moment Nishinoya spots something, he goes after it. It’s part of his dedication to life, certainly, but it also means running off the moment he gets Asahi to somewhere easily recognizable to return to. At least there’s a bench here, and shade from the hot sun. Sighing, Asahi sits.</p><p>Heroes, huh? He’s learned from the numerous movies on the flight over that superheroes are everywhere in America. Men and women alike wear extravagant, scandalous skin-tight suits while performing superhuman feats. Some shoot lasers from their ways, while others possess the ability to see through walls, and there are even some who can create elements from thin air. Their story is comforting in its familiarity: a person, ostracized for their unusual skill, finds love and humanity by accepting themselves. It’s a universal theme he’s seen from Japan to Europe and now, America.</p><p>Whether or not it’s true in real life is another question.</p><p>“Is this seat taken?” Asahi startles, nearly dropping his bag. A blonde man smiles, waving. He has a slightly hunch to his back and extremely sunken cheeks.</p><p>“Of course! Please, go ahead!” Even if they are abroad, Asahi is a firm believer in respecting his elders. He hastily gathers his things, peering around. Their cellphones can’t call abroad, though they’ve been using wifi to connect and call through various apps instead. Perhaps he can notify Nishinoya after locating a restaurant or museum?</p><p>“Hold on!” Or not. The man waves at Asahi, his smile now stiff. “Please, take a seat. I didn’t mean to scare you off like that.”</p><p>“Oh! No, you didn’t, I mean—” Perhaps he did, actually. To the stranger, it must have looked like Asahi wanted to leave only because of his arrival. That isn’t… exactly untrue, but it was less the blonde man’s fault than the fact that Asahi simply preferred to be alone.</p><p>“Thank you,” Asahi murmurs, sitting back down. A part of him aches, wondering where Nishinoya is. It was a mistake to come to New York on a whim, expecting to be led with a perfect tour when it was also Nishinoya’s first time visiting as well. Expecting someone, especially an excited dear friend, to give up their schedule to accommodate him to every single location was selfish even for him. If he weren’t here, Nishinoya would be free to run to his heart’s desire.</p><p>But then again, it had been Asahi who asked to visit New York City’s parks. And Nishinoya would never, and had never, abandoned him in a random location. Even now, the bench he sits in is one within the walls of Central Park, surrounded by lush trees and the chatter of Americans and tourists alike, pointing at flowers, laying on the grass, or working away. It’s certainly calmer than the bustle of the pizza restaurant, and just when it was dangling on the edge of claustrophobic, it had been Nishinoya who pulled him out and asked where he wanted to go.</p><p>Maybe he was being selfish.</p><p>“Is there something on your mind?”</p><p>“Huh! Ah, no, wait, what?” Asahi blinks, his shoulders hunched in surprise. Was that Japanese? The stranger laughs, waving his hands in the air, peaceful.</p><p>“I don’t mean to interrupt! You just seemed to be contemplating. You looked like one of my students when he’s thinking.” Students? So the man was a teacher.</p><p>“I’m—I’m a fashion designer, actually. Or, er, I was. I’m on break, right now.” It’s strange to verbalize the words. He knew that following Nishinoya meant giving up the little bit of stability he managed to grab onto after college, but even so, he hadn’t imagined he would miss the security of the words “employment” quite so much.</p><p>“Amazing! So you came to America to learn fashion?”</p><p>“That’s one of the reasons. I wanted to take a break,” Asahi takes a breath, glancing around the park. Children and adults and elders alike mingle, laughing and playing in the shadows of the trees that cut through the sunlight, creating flower patterns on the floor. “I wasn’t ready for the job. My friend was traveling and I—I needed the escape, I think.”</p><p>The man hums, leaning back to take in the view as well. His eyes soften at the music of a girl’s shoes, lighting up and playing a song with every step.</p><p>“I understand. So often we take on responsibilities we aren’t ready for, and by the time we know that, we’re already far too deep into our role.” That—</p><p>“That’s true. That’s what—that’s what I feel like, sometimes. Like I’m out of college, and I have a job, but I…” The texts from Hinata, the pictures from Nishinoya, the laughter of his teammates when they once stood around a convenience store, eating steamed buns.</p><p>“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Asahi confesses, quiet, bowing his head until it’s in his hands. He can only see the ground, the gravel, a rolled up wrapper someone tossed that now has a trail of ants eating from it. “I’m supposed to be an adult, but my juniors have done so much more than me. They’re just,” there’s Yachi, who laughed proudly as she was promoted to lead, standing on par with Asahi. There’s Hinata, and Kageyama, who stand on the world stage, and with them is Tsukishima, whose face Asahi has seen in more than more commercial. There’s Tanaka, who might get married next year.</p><p>There’s Nishinoya, who has a path made of nothing, and yet <em> still </em> shines brighter than any future Asahi can imagine.</p><p>“My juniors are amazing,” he whispers. “I can’t even begin to compare. You might not believe it, but <em> two </em> of them are Olympians. That’s—I mean,” he groans, rubbing his right hand along his cheek. “I can’t even try.”</p><p>“I’m a hero.”</p><p>Huh?<br/>
Asahi blinks, tilting forward to meet the gaze of his stranger. The teacher smiles, his eyes that same familiar softness, the kind Takeda had when he told them to be well, when he cried at graduation. It’s the same as this man, his hands cupped on his knees.</p><p>“I was a hero,” he explains, laughing. “Not much of one anymore. My students are heroes in training, they’re amazing! They’re absolutely amazing, each and every one of them.” Heroes? The kind with spandex suits and capes? Asahi opens his mouth, doubtful, but the man continues on, looking up to the trees. The sun breaks through them, patterning his face as he speaks.</p><p>“I was put into forced retirement. Because I lost something I was never meant to lose.” Oh.</p><p> “I understand,” Asahi interrupts, his fingers scratching each other. That? That, Asahi understands. Knows well imprinted into his soul. A match his spikes never hit through, a match his voice quieted, a time he wished he could call for the ball even as vines and spikes bit into his skin and stopped his wings from sprouting. He isn’t a hero but—</p><p>“They know how to fly, and I’m still here. On the ground.”</p><p>Maybe that doesn’t make sense. Asahi glances over, expecting maybe laughter, or a confusing tinge to the man’s smile, but instead, it grows fonder.</p><p>“Aren’t we a pair?” He laughs, patting Asahi’s shoulder. The man gazes upwards, pointing. “We wouldn’t know they were flying if we didn’t know what the sky looks like.”</p><p>Asahi follows his gaze. The clouds drift lazily, unaware, unconcerned, with the sound of the children beneath them, the hustle and bustle of the city. From Tokyo and from New York, the sky stretches across the world.</p><p>It’s all the same.</p><p>“I used to play volleyball,” Asahi murmurs. “I wasn’t very good, but I was my team’s Ace. They depended on me and I,” he swallows. He’s beginning to ramble, something Daichi told him off for again and again, but there’s a lump in his throat that won’t disappear. “I loved them. I still do. I miss it.”</p><p>“I make athletic clothing now. It’s not—I’m not famous, or anything, but,” his face isn’t on any billboards, but Lev wore his suit, and Hinata his shorts. “It’s something I enjoy. If I can make them fly that bit higher, I want to.” Taller, higher, freer. More than the vines that wind around their ankle, more than the net that towers over their head. Away with that, with padded gloves and clean cut shoes. Away with them, with Asahi cutting away the excess, and clothing them in armor.</p><p> “I want to see the sky with them again.”</p><p>“It sounds like you’re doing more than most.” The man hums. It’s with a soft laugh, something simple, quiet, that he speaks again. “Don’t underestimate the power of supportive gear. Sometimes, the difference between a hero and a villain is just the support they’ve received.”</p><p>A hero and a villain. Certainly, he had always thought of his juniors as heroic, but never any rivals as villains. But there had never been a need to, when the person Asahi struggled the most with was himself.</p><p>“Am I selfish, for using them to fly?”</p><p>That, perhaps, is the part that squeezes tight at his chest. His juniors, his friends, his <em> family </em>—they made up his sky. And here he sits, still, gazing upwards, reaching upwards, sneaking his way along the clouds with a needle and thread.</p><p>“Aren’t they using your works?” The man asks. “I think your friends know how much you love them. I’m sure they love you too. I’ve been… blessed to be treated with such kindness since I retired. You’d be surprised to know how many people love you.”</p><p>The sky they see is the same.</p><p><br/>
“Asahi! Come on, there’s a free viewing for a hero movie today!” Oh. The peace leaves as quickly as it came, Nishinoya waving besides a hot dog cart with a grin. Asahi glances between Nishinoya and the man, uncertain, but the former hero just laughs.</p><p>“It sounds like you better go.” Right.</p><p>“Thank you for talking with me. Ah, wait,” Asahi shuffles through his bag. He hadn’t been planning on bringing them, but Nishinoya insisted, should he meet any potential customers. It’s a pleasant surprise to find himself needing one now, taking out a business card to hand to the man. “I’m Asahi Azumane, a fashion designer for the Japaneses Olpymic team. It was a pleasure to speak with you.”</p><p>“Toshinori Yagi. Former hero,” Yagi extends his hand, shaking Asahi’s arm with much more enthusiasm than he’d expect from his sunken cheeks. As though catching on, Yagi laugh once more, releasing his hand, “Now I’m doing the happiest job in the world.”</p><p>“Take care, Asahi.”</p><p>Yagi waves goodbye, pointing upwards once more. Asahi finds himself smiling back.</p><p>Under one sky.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A little crow told me that <a href="https://twitter.com/BNHAxHaikyuu"> Heroes of the Court </a> a BNHA x Haikyuu Zine is opening leftover sales this week! From 1/8 to 1/15 the zine will be available to purchase again. We have over 30 contributors in the zine, so come check us out!</p><p>I rarely write crossover fics, but well... the siren call of BNHA AND Haikyuu is irresistible? Really, I just wanted to write something comfy with Asahi because he needs more love. Implied Found Family Asahi is even better!</p><p>Judge my life choices on <a href="https://twitter.com/shidreamin/"> twitter </a> ♥ ♥ ♥</p></blockquote></div></div>
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